The night wind that passed through the gap between the palace blew off my black turban, and the moonlight revealed the wounds that I had kept secret, and there was a tear that was not well hidden. I saw that drop of tear and my hair in a bronze mirror.
The hair, which is as short as a six-year-old child, is old and dry.
The morning is like blue silk and the evening is like snow.
In an instant, youth changed secretly.
Conception: